The day you were born, everything changed. They told me to eat a light breakfast (I had toast), not to bring anything (which wasn’t totally true, we should have brought my bag). and come prepared to be induced for labour. They’d induce me, send me home, and we would wait… Probably all day for you to make your appearance. But that’s not quite what happened. We got to the hospital, hooked me up to the baby monitor, and surprise! Evidently, you were in distress! We needed an emergency Caesarean section!

At 11:39am, you were born, and everything changed. I was no longer just me. I was a Mom and that meant a whole new set of rules had to be applied. Except I didn’t quite know what those rules were. While I’d spent months preparing, getting the gender-neutral clothing, setting up a nursery (you wouldn’t end up using more than a handful of nights), reading the baby books on how to parent, it would all prove to be somewhat meaningless. You were you, not some typical baby. Parenting from a book was the ideal case. Just when we thought we’d figure you out, you’d change. I think that’s how all babies do it, just to keep their parents on their toes.

I didn’t see you right away. The doctors had to do some magic on me first, so they took you away, did their magic, and you and your Dad went off to do the weighing, measuring, and checking out the baby stuff. While I hadn’t felt we’d finalized your name, your Dad had and you were named… Baby BG forever came to be. You were a ‘big baby’, nine pounds, nine ounces. And twenty-one- and one-half inches long. Dark brown hair, dark crystal blue eyes that held a wary look to them. Like you were questioning the world, even at birth.

You were mine. I was intoxicated by you. All of you. To me, you smelled of fresh buttered toast made of the best homemade bread. A smell I will always cherish and remember. I could not bear to be far from you. The nurses were adamant that you must sleep in the bassinet beside my bed. This simply would not do. The moment they left, I’d pluck you from the baby bed, and put you in my arms. I just had to have you with me. You slept and I stared at you all night. While I should have been exhausted, I was not. I needed to drink you in. Look at your fingers, your toes. Count every eyelash, take in the curve of your chin. To me, you were perfection, and I knew with every second that ticked by, there was nothing on this planet that I would not do for you. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you. In that moment, and in every moment henceforth.

I wish I could say I was the perfect parent. That I did all the things right, just like in the book. I didn’t. Parenting was hard. I ran large construction projects with many trades all moving at once and that was easier than managing one toddler. But I tried to lead with love and always let you know that you were loved. I learned a lot raising you, I am still learning (and making mistakes.)

You are sixteen now. Writing that is dizzying for me. I can picture our first night together as mother and son so very clearly, the idea that sixteen years has passed is unreal. Those first few nights were hard. You were never a difficult child. Headstrong, absolutely. You knew best, always. You still do!

When you get an idea in your head, there is no changing it. This is a good thing in many ways, but it also makes it difficult. Your tenacity will take you places, but do not forget to be humble. It has made parenting you interesting in so many ways. When you are right (or think you are right), that is it… Full stop. We cannot change your mind. Start a sentence, and you cut us off. I don’t know if you argue with your teachers with the same tenacity, but it can be frustrating. Clearly, you are a very smart child. I joke that you are smarter than I am. This isn’t far from the truth… Through most of your academic career, you’ve gotten straight A’s without cracking a book. Things just come to you. I know it will continue to go well, if I can get you to study! You see things in a different way than most people, just exactly how that is, I am unsure. As you find your feet, remember that those around have experience. Learn from them. Their path may be different, but it may help change your view of the world.  

I’ve come to see many things through your lens, and this has intensified my view of the world. Sometimes you perplex me, sometimes you make me laugh, and sometimes, you confound me. But you’ll always be that little boy with those bright blue eyes, filled with skepticism and wonder. You changed my life, made me a better person. I want to know all the things because when you asked me why the sky was blue, I needed to know the answer. When you didn’t believe me that a cute-a-saurus-rex­ is a real dinosaur, I had to learn more than your standard dinosaurs to impress you! I want to be the kind of parent you can be proud of. While I will never be a professor at a university, and I will never be able to work again, I will be the best baker of cakes, knower of dinosaurs, and giver of parties for your stuffed animal, Curious George.

I love that you never tell people about your disabled Mom. The thought doesn’t cross your mind. To you, I’m just Mom. A little weird, a bit embarrassing, but just Mom. You thought the “er, er er” was me opening wine every other night (spoiler, it was Dad’s scotch bottle), I throw the crazy birthday parties, bake the theme cakes, and come up with the crazy Christmas tree ideas. I don’t say ‘no’ as often as I should, and you can text me at 2am because I’m usually still up. You always went along with my whims because I went along with yours. You’ve aged out of my silly ideas now, but you’re still the one wanting to back cakes when it’s 38C outside and made me cookies in the motorhome in a Safeway parking lot to surprise me as I flew in from Brandon last summer! Sometimes, we are like two peas in a pod… Just like in that hospital room all those years ago, when they couldn’t make me put you down. I love you, forever and ever.